


Walking a Different Path

by maccready



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M, femtrevelyan/solas, hawke stays with the inquisition, human inquisitor/solas, in other words the dragon age we all wanted, orlesian inquisitor - Freeform, sort of, warden/alistair reunion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccready/pseuds/maccready
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A middle child to Orlesian nobles sneaks off into the night with her templar brother, eager to attend the Conclave in Ferelden and see the world with her newfound freedom. Turns out, the life of dealing with torturous nobles she wanted so badly to escape is exactly what she falls into once again, as inquisitor.</p><p> An alternate origin story for a human inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The de Laurents

 Awoken by the sound of raindrops on stained glass. She was always a light sleeper, and that window always noisy. Obnoxious; the White Spire's windows were always much quieter.

She could hear Isabelle begging Pierre to play with her. Pierre said no. He felt that fifteen was too old for games, he wanted to fight. Perhaps she could ask Samuel.

"Go ask Eva, I'm busy."  _Do not. Do not ask Eva._

Footsteps, then a small knock on the door. "Eva?"

_Ugh._

"Yes, Isabelle." She muttered lazily, face-deep in throw pillows. Another hesitant, quiet knock.

"What?" She was heard this time, and slowly, timidly, her younger sister appeared in the doorway.

"Eva, will you play with me? Pierre-"

"Did you ask Sam?"  
  
The young girl shifted. "No, only Pierre. But now I want to play with you."

"Ask Sam. Meeting with the de Montfort's this evening will take all my strength. Believe me, ma chérie."

Isabelle huffed before reluctantly exiting the room. _Meeting the de Montfort's_. Eva covered her head with a velveteen pillow, as if to escape her thoughts. _How lovely_.

\-------

Breakfast with the de Laurent's was never uneventful, never quiet. There were nine of them: Six children, the Duke and Duchess, and a mistress. The mistress, a talkative but proper woman named Sabine Michaud, was only there certain mornings. The mornings when her and the Duchess had plans together, actually. Best friends.

The children never questioned it. They were too young to know anything different. Eva, along with her older brothers Jean and Leon, had been around long enough to remember a time when a mistress wasn't needed; when the love between Duke Emile and Duchess Yvonne was a tale for the ages. Now they are little more than political partners. Acquaintances.

Emile passed the butter over to Yvonne, eyes never meeting, fingertips never touching. When the mistress wasn't around, you would think they were in love all over again. Perhaps they forgot about her then. But here she was, sitting to the Duke's left and his wife to his right.  _Unbelievable._

"Something on your mind, dear?" Her father caught her watching the butter exchange, gawking like some kind of peasant at a grand ball. Her eyes shifted to meet his. "No, nothing."

Her poor mother. When the exchange was over, when no one was looking, she looked so miserable. So sad that here she was with her family, her children and her husband in their beautiful chateau, a supposedly happy time; but to his left was a woman half her age with his heart in her hand.

Sabine was her best friend though, and that was something Eva could never quite grasp. They were friends when alone, but here, with her family, and her husband, the tension was at large. This woman took her husband from her, reduced them to nothing but roommates at best and strangers at worst.

"Darling, when do you plan on leaving for-" Sabine's nose wrinkled slightly. " _Ferelden_."

It took Leon a moment to register that she was speaking to him. He hastily dropped his fork and gained an unnecessarily stiff and professional posture. Templar training.

"At nightfall. Traveling under the cover of night will prove safest, Madame."

Sabine giggled. "'Madame'? Darling, we're family, are we not? Call me Sabine."

He was never going to call her that. Eva and Leon looked at each other, then at their mother. She looked as though she might scream.

"You really needn't run off to Ferelden. The Conclave will have plenty of templars, one will not be missed." The Duchess pleaded. Sabine laughed.

"Yes, but one of Leon's station? They will listen to him above all others; he is heir to one of the most influential dukes in Orlais." Emile looked rather pleased with himself at this. He kissed her forehead. _Gross_.

"Which is exactly why he doesn't need to go. This is not just about an heir, but about a son. I will not endanger him, Sabine."

A deadly glare was exchanged between the Duke's women. The children were quiet. The mistress and wife always got along, but she had overstepped this time. This was her son they were discussing.

"I am a grown man, neither of you will influence my decision. Apologies, Mother."

"Peu importe." The Duchess huffed.

The children began talking, laughing even. The quiet was gone, but the Duke was frustrated. Rubbing his temples, he rose from his seat and vanished from the dining hall.

Breakfast with the de Laurent's was never uneventful.

\-------

The dress was too tight, the corset too painful. The talks too long.

"You are a delight, my dear, and Cyril is just lovely. I think this union will do both our families well."

Cyril had been holding her hand for thirty minutes and their mothers speaking even longer. They were grown adults, him almost thirty, but still they were forced into this arranged marriage. The words sounded foreign, wrong in her head. She noticed how their mothers avoided the term entirely, and wondered if it were on purpose. It probably was.

"Evariste, I think we picked well, don't you?" Her mother grinned behind her golden mask; she was clearly expecting some kind of praise. Cyril's eyes were on her. Their mothers' eyes. She cleared her throat and forced a smile.

"Very well indeed. I look forward to our time together, ma moitié."

Brushing a thumb over the back of her hand, he smiled proudly. They all did.

"A union most proud, the de Montfort's and the de Laurent's becoming one. Our Empress will be pleased, indeed." Lady de Montfort was positively beaming. How long had they been planning this?

"It will be a love for the ages, ma belle."

She wasn't so sure she agreed.

\-------

That night was the night she left. An elegantly written letter was left in the tangles of unmade silken sheets, a door left open in the dead of night.

She had left it all behind. Freckles clung proudly to her cheeks, not hidden under pounds of powder; blonde hair braided sloppily down her back, fine gowns left at home for a simple tunic and breeches. Every aspect of her life had always been so controlled, so perfect. She had never once felt so free.

She met Leon at the front gates. "How exciting!" He had said, "Two siblings, mage and templar, off to see the world!"

"More likely to see some smelly dog lords rather than the world, but I liked yours better." She replied.

He threw his arm around her shoulders as they walked into the darkness, speaking of the tales they would soon have to tell.


	2. The Fereldan Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

Whatever the people of Ferelden thought a 'haven' was, it was not held to the same standard as the Orlesian term. The de Laurent siblings had arrived to the village nestled deep in the Frostbacks after weeks of traveling, and were beyond relieved to have warm beds and strong drinks.

"More than a little crowded, isn't it?" Eva smirked behind her wine glass and savored the flavor of the 'Orlesian import', as the serving girl had called it. Leon was taking the time to try Fereldan beer for the first time, oblivious to his surroundings.

"You know, it actually isn't that bad. Very cozy. Has its own rustic charm to it." She added. The air had a warmth to it, a friendly feeling that was in short supply  
back in the homeland of the Great Game. She wondered if she could capture some in a jar and bring it back with her someday.

"Are you sure you're comfortable around all these templars? The last thing I want is for something to happen to you on my watch."

She chuckled. "Templars don't scare me."

He rolled his eyes and took another swig of the Fereldan brew. " _Right_ , and I'm the queen of Antiva."

"I'm not!"

"Uh huh."

The young mage huffed; she wished she weren't afraid of them. At the White Spire, where templars and mages were nearly equals, they respected her and she respected them. There was no fear. After they had separated from the Chantry, however, they hated her. Hunted her for what she was, what she could not control. It made her ill to think about it.

Fingertips grazing her cheek, she felt the smoothness of her skin and then the rigid edges of a long scar. The day the White Spire fell, her parents sent an armed guard to retrieve her from the tower. A templar recruit, eager for blood, lunged at her before they could stop him. They killed him.

Even after all she had went through, even though people she had never met hated her for it, she had never once regretted her magic. Magic was beautiful, a gift. It did not concern her that few seldom understood it.

"It won't happen again. I won't allow it." He was still angry. She couldn't blame him.

"You weren't there, there was nothing you could do."

"But it's _shameful_ , Eva. Templars are supposed to be protectors. It shames me that so few remember our purpose."

"No offense, but your purpose kind of sucks." He laughed at this. 'A necessary evil' he called it. Templars had their uses, she could agree with that. Harassing, killing, and torturing innocent mages were not included.

He frowned into his mug. "I don't understand why we have to take children from their mothers when their magic shows. They need training, but this isn't the way. I hope there _is_ another way."

She hoped there was too. At the White Spire, she had the privilege to go home whenever she pleased. Most were not so lucky.

"It's bewildering to me that so many mages grow up not knowing their parents. Their families. Something has to change, Leon."

He nodded in agreement.

"Too much seriousness. Can we discuss something else?"

She paused. "Like what, how qunari put on shirts?"

He slammed his mug on the table. "Yes! How _do_ they do that? Do they have wider necklines in their tunics than we do? Do some of them use magic, or do they not wear shirts at all?"

Laughing, she replied, "If I ever meet one, I'll ask him for you. Promise."

"You know, I don't care what our family says about you. You're alright."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"I'm joking, settle down. Well, there _was_ that one thing Jean told me Cyril said about you, but I'm sure it didn't mean anything."

"Shut it." She rolled her eyes. "I hadn't even thought about him, actually. I'm sure he's found out by now."

He shifted in the flimsy barstool. "Who, Cyril? I'm sure our esteemed lordship has just cried himself to sleep for weeks now over it. A pity."

"Can you pull your head out of your arse for a minute? I'm serious."

"Yes yes, to answer your question, I'm sure he knows. The whole city of Val Montaigne probably knows. I wouldn't be surprised if Mother and Father put up lost posters for you."

"Oh Maker, don't say that. Excuse me Monsieur, do you have any rooms available?" The barkeep passed by with an armful of mugs and plates, Ferelden heavy on his voice. "One. A couple templars asked for it, but you kids look like you haven't slept in weeks and they just bring about trouble anyways. It's yours for 2 silvers."

"Do you accept Orlesian money?" She hadn't even considered the currency change when they came to Ferelden, and felt that an Orlesian copper should be worth well over two Fereldan gold pieces. The man wrinkled his nose.

"I suppose. Damn Orlesians and their fancy money." He sighed. "Up the stairs to the left."

\-------

The room, like the rest of Ferelden, was a stark contrast to an Orlesian inn. Pelts and strange carvings plastered the walls, while in Orlais, extravagant gold-framed paintings of various scenes would be hung carefully around the marble walls. The bed, a simple thing made of various pieces of lumber and iron, would have paled in comparison to one of Orlesian make, much like the rest of their decor. She tried not to think too much on it, lest it make her homesick.

Leon had done a fantastic job keeping them alive the past weeks, so she felt it only right to let him have the bed. Unrolling the bedroll, she thought on what the barkeep had said to them. "You know, I think I learned something today, Leon."

"Hmm?" He was laying in the bed, eyes closed, hands clasped behind his head and almost asleep. She cleared her throat.

"The people here think us rather extravagant. Some might even say foolish."

"That's because they don't understand the Game, sister, or the enjoyment of the finer things. These are simpler people."

"More like boring people." She paused. "Are you ready for the Conclave tomorrow?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." He muttered. She laid in her bedroll, staring up at the wooden planks in the ceiling as she listened to the laughs and cheers of the people drinking below them. Finally, she closed her eyes.

"Seriously though, how do you think qunari put on shirts?"

"Hush it, will you?"


	3. The Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interrogation and meeting Varric and Solas.

"Maker... forgive me." She breathed. She was covered in blood. _His_ blood. Where was he? What was happening?

Her eyes darted around the smoldering rubble for any sign of him; his shield, his armor, anything.

"Leon!"

She tried to stand, but she was too weak. Too frail. It felt as though her life force had been completely drawn out of her, then shoved back in hastily like a child trying to force a piece into a puzzle. Her vision blurred, and her hand... it burned.

A searing pain shot through her forearm down to the center of her left palm, burning away the flesh there with a foreign green magic. She screamed.

"Eva!" She could barely make out the figure running towards her. She recognized the silverite lion on the breastplate; it was her brother.

" _Maker..._ " He fell to the ground, a gloved hand covering his stomach. There was blood.

"Leon, what-" Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight. In the very corner of his breastplate, where the faintest hint of leather was exposed, he had been stabbed. It went deep. He was beginning to lose consciousness, she could see it in his face. She screamed for help.

"Eva, please... Magic."   
  
She could heal him. It would be hard, but she could try. She was already so drained.

She focused all her energy into her right hand and prayed that if there was a maker, he would help her. She would not lose Leon. Couldn't.

The emerald radiance of a healing spell danced from her fingertips to his wound; she had stopped the bleeding, for now.

"Mille mercis." He whispered. He was still so weak.

"Je suis désolée."

"There! Survivors!"

A group of soldiers running, shouting. The closest thing to a miracle. They approached quickly, a group of four adorned in rich brown leather and the warmest furs. The sight of it made her realize how cold she was.

"Wait." One, a captain of sorts, stopped the rest. He drew his sword, the tip just inches from her face. _Merde_. "That's the one who walked out of the Fade!" Walked out of the Fade?

"What? Please, my brother. he's-"

"Look at her hand! It _is_ her!" Another shouted.

Leon was yelling, it was all a blur. She was hit in the head and everything went black.

\-------

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now."   
  
A woman in Chantry armor,  
circling her like a tiger circling its prey. She was angry. Chained on the floor of a Ferelden dungeon, being threatened by a Seeker of Truth. She'd awoken in better places.

"Ta gueule." She spat.

"The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead... Except for you."

Her stomach dropped, her blood ran cold. Leon.

"My brother. Where is he?"

"The man you were found with is being held elsewhere. Sister Leliana is interrogating him."

Interrogating?

"Imbécile, he needs a healer! I swear if you lay one fucking finger on him-"

"Silence!" The Seeker unsheathed a sword and threw the tip in her face. Not shaken, not afraid, she raised a brow and stared directly into her interrogator's face; not the first time it'd happened that day and probably wouldn't be the last. A de Laurent is always stubborn.

"Cassandra!" Another woman appeared. "We need her."

Her hand started to glow again. It burned, and her screams echoed through the dungeon. Cassandra looked bewildered.

"Meet me at the forward camp, Leliana."

\-------

The walk was long and cold, filled with dreaded silence broken only by pleas to see Leon. The Seeker sighed.

"Your brother is safe. You may see him once the Breach is sealed."

She was relieved. "I'm not certain it will work, but I'll do whatever I can."

"That's all we can ask."

Her stomach twisted and ached; she never wanted this. She wanted to go home, to wake up and have breakfast with her family again. Leon wouldn't be injured, and this- this _thing-_  was gone.

There was fighting up ahead, maybe other survivors? Cassandra seemed to read her thoughts.

"I know what you are thinking, but there are no other survivors. They are- well, you'll see soon enough."

Her stomach dropped. No other survivors. So she was really the only one left, her and Leon, but she was the one with the mark. They would have her hung in Val Royeaux, if they were kind. Or, they would send her to Denerim to have her head cut off. If she were going to die, she would want to die in Orlais, her mistress, her love. Not Ferelden. Not this awful land of dog lords and dirt.

She tried to tell herself that this was a good land, a good people. She tried to push away these awful thoughts, but she was angry. So angry at everything and everyone.

"Am I going to be executed?"

Cassandra turned back to look at the young girl, and admittedly, she felt a bit sorry for her. Her gray eyes were strained and red, stray hairs clinging to her tear-soaked face. She looked so scared. So exhausted. The Seeker's expression softened.

"Not if I have any say in it."

She was surprised at this and didn't want to push her luck. A simple 'merci' fell off her lips.

It was a bit awkward for Cassandra so she tried to change the subject. Sentimentality was never her thing. "It's right up this hill. Are you ready?"

\-------

There was a dwarf and an elf waiting for them at the top of that hill. Fighting off demon after demon with no end, she seemed to be the means they were waiting for. The elven man grabbed her hand and held it up towards the growing rift.

"Now, before more come through!"

Her hand tingled, the light faded. It was gone.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

_Oh, Maker._

"There's no way."

The elf smiled a bit. "But there is. Whatever magic caused the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might close rifts, and it seems I was correct."

Cassandra stepped forward. "Meaning it could close the Breach itself."

"Possibly."

There was a silence as she considered exactly what this meant; she could close these holes in the sky, the direct passageways from the Fade to their world; the thought both terrified and excited her. No mage had ever been able to do this, to open and close doors from our world to the next. To manipulate the Veil itself.

"Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."

"Considering your ass is barely 2 feet off the ground, that doesn't sound too bad."

The elven man snorted, a breach in his poised and calm demeanor. Cassandra groaned.

"Ha! That wasn't half bad, kid. I'm Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong."

" _The_ Varric Tethras? It's an honor, Monsieur."

Varric laughed. "Finally, someone who appreciates talent when they see it!"

The elf glided towards her, extending a hand warmly. "My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I'm pleased to see you still live." She smiled politely and took his hand.

"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.'"

She couldn't remember anything from the moment the soldiers knocked her out to when she woke up in the dungeon, and she hadn't even considered how the mark hadn't consumed her yet. She didn't want to talk, much less think about it.

"Solas? Pride? How interesting."  
  
He looked surprised. "A knowledgable human is a welcome sight indeed. So little of your kind attempt to learn our tongue. May I?" He motioned towards her hand and took her wrist lightly in his long fingers, careful, calculating. He studied the mark.

"Mage you are, though I doubt this was your doing. It couldn't be."

She groaned. "Trust me, it wasn't. Do I look like I wanted this crazy shit? I just want to go home."

"Where is your home, exactly? Who are you?" Cassandra was interrogating her again, looking for more clues. She sighed.

"I am Eva de Laurent, daughter to Duke Emile de Laurent and Duchess Yvonne. My home is Val Montaigne, Orlais."

"You hear that, Seeker? She's Duke Emile's kid. The Duke Emile. Don't think one of our happy noble neighbors would do something like this, do you?" Varric was smart, she could give him that. Cassandra sighed.

"No, I suppose not. Come, we must keep moving."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mille mercis- Many thanks  
> Je suis désolée- I'm so sorry  
> Merde- Shit  
> Ta gueule- Shut up  
> Imbécile- Imbecile


	4. The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eva is sassy tbh

The forward camp was full of soldiers, wounded and dead. Warriors knelt in corners with hands clasped in prayer, whispering of wives and daughters and sons they were desperate to return to; Chantry sisters cried and prayed over those lost, begging the Maker for salvation and forgiveness. Bloody and battered weapons scattered everywhere reminded her of home, of the civil war that plagued their lands. Her stomach twisted; another disaster to add to the pile.

As they approached a table scattered with maps and tactics, she recognized Leliana and some kind of cleric from the Chantry. They looked up at their approaching group.

"As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hearby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution."

  _Oh, Maker._

"Order me? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat."

"And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry."

Eva stepped forward, fists clenched. She didn't have time for this. "It would be wise to not insult the Seeker in my presence, dégénéré."

Her party looked surprised and the Chancellor angry. His attention returned to Cassandra.

"You would do well to keep your Orlesian pet on a leash, Pentaghast."

"And you would do well to keep your fucking mouth shut. We're doing what we can while you sit here in the safety of a camp bitching at people. You want to help? Grab a sword and pitch in, asshole." With a scoff, she grabbed her staff and walked past him, hitting his shoulder with her own as she passed.

The party moved in silence for several long moments before Varric spoke. "So, uh... that was something, Princess."

She looked back at him. "Princess? I'm not a princess, I'm a lady. I'm glad you enjoyed the show nonetheless."

Varric chuckled. "Kid, I don't know a lot about Orlesian titles, I just know that your people are really fancy and love making things difficult. Hence, princess."

She smiled at this. "Interesting. Do you give nicknames to everyone you meet?"

"Only the ones worth giving them to."

"You do realize there is no chance of High Chancellor Roderick helping us now, don't you?" Cassandra stopped and turned to her.

"Something tells me he wasn't going to help us anyway. No matter, there is always a way." She jumped down the bank and they continued their walk towards the battlefield. "At least I hope there is."

"Hold on to that attitude." Cassandra muttered.

"There! Another rift!"

She grabbed the staff from her back and lunged forward at an oncoming demon, impaling it with the blade.  _How many of these cursed things are there?_

\-------

The rift had been closed. Afterwards, a man was running towards them from the battlefield in armor she would have sworn was Orlesian if he wasn't so obviously Fereldan; the feather mantle was excessive and entirely decorative, which screamed Orlais. Rich red fabrics wrapped his breastplate, also decorative. Admiring the armor, her eyes wandered up to see the wearer, and as for him, he was a work of art. Inoubliable. Broad shoulders, strong jaw, and tousled, wavy blonde hair. She was momentarily awestruck.

"Seeker Pentaghast! I-" A sharp noise like glass breaking, a gust of cold wind; a wall of ice was formed behind the man, with a demon impaled by one of the spires at the top. She lowered her staff as they locked eyes.

"Forgive me."

"Maker's breath." He spoke quietly, almost a whisper. "You have my thanks."

"As you can see, the rift has been closed, Commander." Cassandra motioned toward the countless dead demons scattered around the battlefield. He turned to her. "Yes, I see that. Well done."

"It is not my doing. It is the prisoner's." He returned his gaze over to her.

"Eva. A pleasure."

"I am Commander Cullen. I hope they're right about you, we've lost a lot of people getting you here."

She felt ill. How many people had died for her sake, exactly?

"I promise you, I'm doing all that can be done."

"I suppose that's all we can ask." He paused. "Maker watch over you, for all our sakes."

With another gaze at her, he walked past and she swore she smelt the faintest hint of elderflowers and oakmoss. The Seeker watched her carefully.

\--------

"You made it!" It was Leliana, running to them with a bow slung across her back and scouts in tow. Cassandra turned to her. "Leliana, have your men surround the rift and be ready for anything that comes out. Are you ready?" She was looking at Eva now. The mage was nervous, to say the least.

"How do I even get up there?"

"This rift was the first, and it is the key. Close it, and seal the breach." Solas added.

"Yeah, no problem. Simple." Sarcasm heavy on her voice, she grabbed her staff and walked forward past the burning corpses. The smell of charred flesh engrained itself into her memory. There was silence, and silence, and silence, until they heard it. The voice.

_"Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice."_

"Cheery fellow." She murmured. "Sounds exactly like one of my distant cousins. Mortalitasi, don't ask."

Cassandra grunted. "Noted."

They hiked down the shambled staircases to the lowest point of the crater, a crater that was once a holy place, a beacon to the Andrastians across Ferelden and Orlais alike. Now it was just a smoldering ruin left to rot.

"Is that lyrium- _red?_ "

" _What's it doing here, Seeker?_ " Varric was walking behind her, but from the tone of his voice, it was obvious he had a personal connection to this red lyrium. Although curious, it was best not to pry, she deemed.

"I am not certain. Perhaps we will know soon enough."

Eva jumped down into the crater with companions following closely behind. Up close, this rift may actually be considered beautiful to someone who studied magic. Its magic was old, very old.

They heard things. The voice of the Divine, screaming for help; the man who created the Breach, ordering comrades to keep her still; and her own.

"What's going on here?" She yelled. The Divine called to her, screamed for her to stop him. She couldn't remember any of it.

"You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she-"

" _I don't remember, Seeker!_ " She growled in frustration, in anger. "Maker, why can't I remember?" It was calm for a few moments, like the eye of a storm, before the voice returned again.

"Kill her, now!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dégénéré- inbred  
> Inoubliable- unforgettable


	5. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories, and Solas visits Eva in the Fade.

She was in a forest deep in the heart of Halamshiral. There was magic all around her in the trees and the grass and the water, flowing with the breeze so naturally it was as if the Veil had ceased to exist altogether; it was thin here, very thin. It was wonderful.

There were elven ruins, their marble almost fully intact beneath the emerald vines that swirled over ancient writings and paintings alike. Grand archways preceded them, just feet ahead of her and gleaming in the golden rays of sunlight. They say that in the Emerald Graves, each tree represents an elven soldier that died protecting his homeland. She wondered if that was the same case here.

There was a stirring in the bushes up ahead and she immediately reached for her staff, only to find it missing from its usual spot on her back. She readied a spell and held her breath.

"Who goes there?"

From the bushes stalked a great black wolf with six red eyes, staring at her as if it could see straight to her soul. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  _Dread Wolf_.

\-------  
  
She awoke with a start. In one swift movement, she scanned her surroundings and searched for any sign of a wolf lurking in the shadows, watching her. Instead of a lush green forest she found herself in a small wooden cabin, snow falling gracefully outside in a way that reminded her of the family's visits to Emprise du Lion. The memory calmed her down and she took a deep breath.

The door opened and in walked a small elven woman carrying a box of herbs. When she saw Eva was awake, she dropped the box and fell to the floor.

"Please forgive me, my lady."

"Where am I?"

"You are back in Haven, my lady. The mark on your hand stopped spreading after you sealed the Breach."

She examined the mark on her hand, it's magic tingling in her palm. She wondered if the wolf really was Fen'Harel, if the mark is what drew him to her. Why would he be interested in a human, let alone her? Besides, wasn't he supposed to be an old elven legend?

As the daughter of two influential nobles, Eva had access to all the tomes and knowledge she could ever need. For a time, she studied the elves; her people took their homeland, twisted it into something so human the elves couldn't even recognize it anymore. This was thousands of years ago, but even after all this time, elven magics still lingered throughout Orlais. It was her goal to find them, to study them. She dismissed the thoughts and looked over at the woman.

"Will there be a trial?"

The elf stood. "I'm not sure, my lady. Lady Cassandra will want to see you right away, in the chantry."

\-------

"Arrest the girl! I want her chained and taken to the capital for trial."

"Disregard that and leave us."

The war room was silent save for the fire of torches crackling along the stone walls. She looked at the Seeker, then to the Chancellor. There was an undeniable fire in Cassandra's eyes as she stared down Roderick in that chantry, something Eva came to learn was a powerful trait of Cassandra's personality; she was strong.

"You walk a dangerous line, Seeker."

"The Breach is stable but still a threat. I will not ignore it."

Eva sighed. "I'm still a suspect. Even after what I just did."

"You absolutely are." Roderick sneered.

"No, she is not."

"Someone was behind the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect." Leliana eyed him suspiciously.

" _I_ am a suspect?"

The bickering went on for ages, and Eva eventually tuned it out and begun to worry for Leon, wherever he was. Was he even still alive?

She drifted off and remembered a time when they were young, and their family was vacationing at the villa in the Emerald Graves. The first rays of sunrise filled the sky with mighty red hues, and kissed the clouds with endless splashes of pink. Their parents were not yet awake, and the courtyard was filled with a peaceful stillness as they stumbled out into the early autumn air.

"Eva, look!" Leon rummaged through a flower bed for a moment before holding up his prize; a small turtle.

"Aww, he's so pretty!" She exclaimed. "What should we name him?"

"We should name him Jean, after the baby." Leon beamed, stroking the creature's shell lightly. "What do you think?"

"I think it's perfect. We should go show Mama!"

"Awesome!" Grinning, the Orlesian children ran through the courtyard to the bedchamber wing of the villa, stopping dead in their tracks when they got there; Leon had fallen.

"Are you ok, Lele?" She knelt down next to the boy and examined him carefully; he had skinned his knee.

His face quickly transitioned from pain to worry. "Where's Jean?"

Jean was fine, however. Thrown a few feet forward onto a fine embroidered rug, he was slowly making his way back towards the duo. Eva grabbed him and handed him back to Leon.

"Here, let me help." She had said. Her small hands illuminating a vibrant green, she raised them over his skinned knee and healed him almost instantly. The boys tears dried, and he sniffed quietly.

"Thank you, Eva." He whimpered.

"You're welcome, Lele."

Cassandra slammed a book on the table. Eva jumped.

"You know what this is, Chancellor." She sent a heavy glare his way. "A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." She paced towards him. "We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will do it with or without your help." She was in his face now, demanding a response. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out of the war room, leaving the chantry and possibly Haven.

"Will you help us?"

She didn't much have a choice. As far as she knew, she was the only one who could close these rifts, let alone the Breach. They needed her, and she wouldn't see this magic swallow the world. She had to do this.

"I left Orlais for the adventure of a lifetime. I guess I got what I wanted."

\-------

After things calmed down for a while, she finally went to see Leon. At the north end of Haven, across from Solas' cabin, was the infirmary he was admitted to. The building was nearly full, every cot filled with an injured templar or mage or an innocent person caught in the crossfire. It hurt her to see all these people suffering because of mages. Because of her.

Leon was laying on his back, bandages wrapped around his torso professionally and his ruined armor lying in a pile at the end of the cot. With tears in her eyes, she approached his bedside and rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Leon."

He smiled. "Hello, sister."

"How are you?"

"I've been better. I think the most wounding thing was what happened to my armor." He tried to chuckle but instead coughed heavily. She frowned.

"You'll be okay, right?"

"Of course, Eva. I don't think I would have made it without you."

"Don't say that."  
  
He smiled slightly. "Well, it's true. They tell me you're the Herald of Andraste now. The sole survivor of the Conclave."

She sighed. "That's what I hear. I'm not the only survivor, though."

He laughed a bit. "Only having one survivor has a lot better ring to it than having two. I'm not worried about it. Better you have the scary glowing mark on your hand than me. Speaking of which, is that your magic?"

"No. Whatever, or whoever's magic it is, it's ancient. I can't even remember how I got it, Leon. Frankly, it's terrifying."

She watched the mark glow in her palm and wondered again about her dream. Maybe it was a figment of the Fade, little more than something her mind had made up all on its own. Maybe she imagined it completely.

"Leon, what will you do once you're healed? Are you going back home?"

He turned over onto his side. "No. I hear you're a part of this new Inquisition? I want to help you, sister. I can't imagine you having all this fun without me."

It turns out, they would get the adventure they left Orlais for after all.


	6. The Elven Mage

* * *

The following weeks went by quickly, as did Leon's healing. Once he was able, he sometimes accompanied the Herald and her team on missions whenever Solas, Varric or Cassandra didn't feel like coming along. Sometimes there was a party of five, like the day the Inquisition visited Val Royeaux for the first time. It did not go well.

The normally bustling streets of the city were completely void. Usually there were noblemen and women standing in clusters along the streets, gossiping of clothes and royalty and affairs alike. Music poured from open stained glass windows on second and third floors, and the warm scent of fresh bread and light incense danced in the breeze. Val Royeaux was her own person, gleaming and beautiful, but it was her people that truly brought her to life.

A crowd gathered on the opposite side of the marketplace around a small stage, where several Chantry mothers and clerics stood. The moment they saw Eva, their eyes turned dark. Cold.

"You may wonder what became of the one who murdered our Divine. Well, wonder no more. The Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell."

Whispers. The Orlesians turned to her and a few nobles gasped at the sight of Duke Emile's eldest children, missing and now heretics. There was yelling.

"Where are the templars? Arrest the mage!"

"Duke Emile's mage, always causing trouble!"

"They should have locked her in the Pit and threw away the key!"

"The mage was always a blight on that family. The poor duchess."

"Enough!" Eva stepped forward, face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "We are here to help, to close the Breach."

"Nonsense! The templars have returned to the Chantry and are here to protect us from your Inquisition!"

A group of templars approached the stage. One, a scribe, approached the mother from behind and hit her in the head, knocking her unconscious. The crowd gasped.

"Still yourself. She is beneath us." The leader of the men spoke to a young recruit with an uneasy look on his face. The rest of the templars laughed.

"Andraste's lily-white ass." Eva muttered. Some templars they were.

"Fereldan templars, why am I not surprised."

Their leader glared at her with cold gray eyes. "Silence, mage. I did not make this journey to hear your dim-witted remarks."

She scoffed. "Oh, really? Then why did you come here, wiseass?"

"I came to see what frightens old women so, and to laugh."

"You're pathetic."

"And you are an abomination. You should count yourself lucky I don't cut you down where you stand."

She huffed and crossed her arms. "Let's go, big guy. Bet I could freeze you solid before you even draw a sword."

"I didn't come here to listen to the complaints of a mere child. Save your babbling insults."

"I-"

"Eva, still yourself." Leon spoke from behind her. She forgot he was there. "Lord Seeker, you and your Fereldan mutts would do well to leave our city. Now."

We can still use them, Cassandra had said. They couldn't turn away from us.

Eva wasn't too concerned. They would find their help elsewhere.

\-------

_Are you mad?_

The words were scrawled onto parchment hastily, anger fueling every stroke. The young mage dipped her quill and began another line. _Mages need structure. Guidance._ She paused. _Total freedom would be chaos_. She underlined the last word vigorously. The alliance was not made yet, dozens of preparations yet to be made, and thousands of mages and templars slaughtered one another in the Ferelden Hinterlands. The finer details were taking ages to plan out.

 _Mages have rights, but they need guidance_. _Circles are flawed, but total freedom is unrealistic_. _We need a compromise. A school._ Another pause. _A college. A place where there is no fear, only acceptance and guidance_.  _This is what I propose, Grand Enchanter. Please consider it._

Yawning, she rolled the parchment up and tied it to the leg of an awaiting messenger bird. "Take this to Grand Enchanter Fiona, in Redcliffe." The bird cawed and flew out of the chantry.

Blonde hair in messy ringlets and dark circles under her eyes, Evariste stumbled through the great hall and pushed open the doors of the chantry. Nightfall. The chilled air was a welcome feeling after spending the evening in a humid chantry, and the sound of villagers laughing was music to her ears. A lovely tune crept through the windows of the tavern and made its way to the top of the hill where she was standing, tempting her inside for a glass of wine. She wondered what she would do that evening, and almost immediately thought of Solas.   
  
She could listen to him talk for hours and often never left until sunrise. They traded tales of the Fade and laughed together over frilly cakes she had brought with her from Orlais. He loved them.

"What is this?" He asked when she arrived. He examined the small pastry carefully.

"It's an Orlesian cake."

He chuckled lightly. "I am aware. Rather what is the cause for such celebration?"

"We're friends, Solas. Do I need a reason?"

Friends. The concept was so foreign to him. So odd. He looked to the cake, then to her. "I suppose not. They are lovely, thank you da'len."

They sat together on the furs in front of his fireplace, across from one another with legs crossed. He took another cake from the box between them.

"Have you seen anything in the Fade lately?"

He smiled. "There are always things to be seen in the Fade. What are you referring  
to?"

She paused and thought of the things she had seen lately; mostly just her family, occasionally a stray memory or two from her childhood. The wolf she saw all those weeks ago was still fresh in her mind, it's glowing eyes staring right through her in that elven ruin. She looked up at Solas.

"I wanted to ask you about something I saw, Solas. I was wondering if you saw it too."

He sat his cake down and met her gaze. "Of course, da'len. What is it?"

"A couple of weeks ago, after we sealed the Breach, I had this... dream." Her head tilted slightly. "I was in an elven ruin somewhere in Orlais. I thought I was alone, but I saw this... wolf. It had six red eyes and it was black as night. I know what it looked like, but it just doesn't make sense. I'm not elven, and even if I were, why would I see this?"

He brushed it off almost immediately. "You have read too many legends, Eva. Such a thing is a figment of your imagination. I wouldn't worry too much."

She was relieved to hear it.

"Ma serannas, Hahren. It's good to have someone here that I can trust."

He smiled at her and hoped, truly, that she really could trust him.


End file.
